


how vain, the glories of earthly life

by nonbinarywithaknife (littleboxes)



Series: a cacophony of idiocy [6]
Category: Not Another D&D Podcast (Podcast)
Genre: Banter, Battlefield, Blood and Violence, Friendship/Love, Gen, Minor Character Death, Naddpod: Eldermourne, Naddpod: Eldermourne Arc 2, Pre-Canon, fucked up hexblood bonding while doing murder :heart:, lots of casual killing. in fact thats basically the setting for the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29776539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxes/pseuds/nonbinarywithaknife
Summary: Jabari, Corbeau, and Tarragon, as they fight their way across a battlefield
Relationships: Corbeau Babineaux & Jabari Hightower & Tarragon Snakeroot
Series: a cacophony of idiocy [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692697
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	how vain, the glories of earthly life

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from the wikipedia page for "danse macabre" which. at least it isn't a song lyric?

Corbeau is moving so quickly he's practically invisible, except for the flash of black against pale snow as he darts from giant shadow to giant shadow.

The sound of his staff smacking against flesh alternates between the sounds of cracking bone and shouts of pain, and the giant he's fighting bellows one last time before falling.

"That's ten for me, Jabari, you're getting slow in your old age!"

"Jabari has never been slow in his _life_ ," the monk in question says, blood spraying across his face as he swings Claw. "and Jabari thinks perhaps Corbeau is, ah, _fudging his numbers_ ," he continues, "because he knows Jabari is at _twelve!_ "

Corbeau scoffs from directly behind him, and is already ducking as Claw slices through the air where his head used to be.

"I think that last hit addled your brain," Corbeau says, as they begin to jog back to the main fray. He sidesteps the dying grasp of a giant and Jabari swings down with Claw, silencing them.

"Jabari's brain is perfectly functional, my friend, but I believe the point is moot," he says, looking up, and suddenly there is a very familiar roar.

The giants scream as fire rains down on them, and as Corbeau and Jabari arrive, Tarragon lands, wings flapping happily before disappearing into her back.

"That's at _least_ twenty for me, _if_ i'm feeling generous, which I’m not, which makes it thirty," she says, grinning widely enough to show off her fangs, slit pupils shining.

"Yeah, yeah," Corbeau says, rolling his eyes behind his mask and slinging his staff onto his back.

"There is no need to brag," Jabari continues for him, as their presence is noticed and the charges begin, "your fire, though magnificently violent, is clearly an unfair advantage—"

"It's not _my_ fault neither of you volunteered for the dragon blood and don’t get to have sick breath weapons—"

"Oh, not the _dragon blood_ again," Corbeau says, clinging to the side of a giant’s chest and attempting to slam his fists into their ribs, "some of us wanted _finesse_ —"

"Uh huh, because _crows_ are known for their _finesse—I_ think you're jealous, Corbeau, because I got the cool animal blood and you got stuck with a bird! You didn't even get wings!"

Tarragon breathes in, and then breathes out flames directly into the face of her opponent, whose screams drown out Corbeau’s response.

"—ealous? _Jealous_? I don't _think_ so; corvids are some of the most—"

Jabari calls down to them from the tree he's managed to perch himself on; Claw is buried several inches into the bark below him and Fang is in his hands now. The twang of the bowstring is a fast and familiar rhythm that his voice easily matches.

"Jabari does not understand why his friends debate which kind of blood is _better_ when clearly the only blood that _truly_ matters is that of their enemies! Besides, everyone knows nothing is more satisfying than a killing blow done by Fang and Claw—"

Corbeau and Tarragon groan in unison, and Jabari gives an affronted huff.

"Always, with the groaning! Fang and Claw are _excellent_ weapons!"

Jabari jumps down from his tree, yanks Claw from the bark, and pulls arrows from bodies as they begin to move.

The bickering and banter continues as they bludgeon, burn, and slice their way through the ranks of the giants. In the far, far distance, they can see the other two groups of Hexbloods fighting parallel to them, and soon enough they end up standing, panting, surrounded by blood and bodies. The air is still, with only the faint echoes of distant fights remaining.

“So, call that one a tie?” Corbeau says, tilting his head, eyes glittering.

“ _Every time_ , it is a tie,” Jabari grumbles, “what is the point of counting when it is always a tie?”

“Because _somebody_ refuses to admit that I win every time,” Tarragon says, crossing her arms. There’s ash dusting her shoulders and face, and she coughs for a second, before spitting a piece of bone from between her teeth.

“Is it really winning if you cheat?” Corbeau says, “because we’ve established you have certain _unfair advan_ —”

Corbeau’s cut off by a small gout of flame, still hot enough to distort the air.

“ _Careful!_ You almost singed my hair!”

“Your hair is fine—”

“My hair is the best feature between the three of us—”

“Jabari begs to differ—”


End file.
